


My Darling, Show me your Love

by unremarkablegirl



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angry Octavia Blake, Arguing, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Post-Battle, soft lincoln
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unremarkablegirl/pseuds/unremarkablegirl
Summary: After a successful battle, Lincoln has something to say. Octavia doesn't take it well.
Relationships: Octavia Blake/Lincoln
Kudos: 13
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	My Darling, Show me your Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [munequita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/munequita/gifts).



> Written for The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative based on 1munequita's prompt of Linctavia arguing and then making up

The battle had ended, they had tended to their injured and Indra had let Octavia go after a debrief. Lincoln had not said much to her in the aftermath of the battle, partially by choice and partially due to rush that always comes after battle. 

His jaw is tense, but his touch is gentle, still, where he holds Octavia on their way back their little cave. They had more comfortable lodgings with the rest of his people, but the cave was safe and warm and private. He says nothing still, while they disarm and gather the necessary supplies to clean themselves.

He takes the rag first, dips it into the wash basin he had filled from their reserves. He starts with Octavia’s arms, keeps his eyes lowered, knowing that she will feel exposed if he states his displeasure with eyes locked tight to her own.

His voice is rough, but he keeps it soft, barely above a whisper, “You were rash today, Octavia. You cannot continue to be impulsive.”

He can feel her freeze beneath his touch, still gentle, never bruising, not even when she yanks her arm from his hold. He glances up, her nostrils are flared as she looks off to the side, jaw working in silence. 

He lowers the wash cloth, moves back, gives her the space she looks like she needs. She glances up, sharp.

Her mouth opens, sharp, “If not for me, Karlo would have been killed. I saved him!”

He opens his mouth, wants to tell her that that’s not the point, but she speaks over him still, “Indra didn’t say anything to me about this, so why are you? You know she’d tell me if I fucked up on the field but she didn't! So, I didn’t!”

She’s getting herself worked up. This had not been his intention.

“Octavia,” here she glances up at him, sharp, still, but stays silent, “I’m not saying you messed up. You performed admirably, but it was luck that you hadn't been injured in your attempt to save Karlo.”

Her mouth opens, no doubt a sharp retort at the ready, but he continues, voice deepening, “As for Indra, I’m sure she’s already planning on turning today into a learning lesson for you.”

He had allowed her chance to look away, he would not allow her a second. He keeps his eyes locked on hers, ready for whatever came next.

“It wasn’t luck, Linc! I thought about it, I’m not still some greenie who doesn’t know anything about battle. I thought about it, measured the timing, I made sure that there wouldn't be a follow-up attack! I—”

She is still speaking, yelling, really, about how she’s not a delusional idiot with no knowledge of strategy, but Lincoln is no longer paying attention. He replays the conversation in his head, realizes that she thought him to be condescending and not concerned. He watches her, no longer shouting, but still speaking erratically, waving her arms this way and that, that she is insecure. She thinks he thinks her to be a child, still. Thinks that he wants to lecture her, that he thinks she was lucky. 

He walks back to her, settles in front of her and picks up the rag. She has dropped silent, but has not yet settled. 

He gestures with the rag, voice gentle, “Can I continue?”

She nods, confused. He dips the rag back in the water, now slightly cooler and lifts it up to her face. He keeps his motions slow and his touch comforting as he wipes dried sweat from her brows.

His voice is warm, “I’m proud of you, Octavia. You’ve grown into a fine warrior and I know you can handle yourself. That doesn’t mean I don’t worry.”

She is watching him, still slightly confused, but she is starting to settle. That’s good. He wants to tell her where she can improve, that her focus is too single-minded, but he knows that will set her off again. He also knows Indra will do a much better job teaching that lesson.

He continues, “If I thought you weren’t ready, I would’ve told you before the battle. That’s not the problem, Octavia. You’re amazing, and you’ve learned so much, but there is still much more for you to learn and that includes knowing when and where to help.” 

“Yes, you saved Karlo, but he would have been fine otherwise, you only sped up the process at risk to yourself. I don’t want you risking yourself more than necessary. I trust your abilities, and I know you do Indra proud, but that doesn’t mean that I want to see you in harm’s way unnecessarily. I love you.”

Her face is now clean of sweat and blood, but tears are welling in the corners of her eyes. He stares, alarmed. Octavia brings her hands up, traces his jaw, and then throws her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. He doesn’t startle, but he’s sure his eyes are open in shock.

Her voice is muffled by his shoulder, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gone off. It’s just, it’s just I’m so tired of being told that I still don’t know enough, that I’m too far behind, and I snapped ‘cause I thought that you thought that too.”

He brings his free hand up, curves it around the back of her head and holds her. She moves back, just enough to make eye contact, and asks to kiss him. He responds by leaning in. It’s chaste, but full of promise. 

When they part, she orders him to take off his upper armour and snags the rag from him. She cleans his chest, her touch lingering longer and longer until finally he can’t take it anymore and brings her up for a kiss much less chaste than the last. Rag forgotten, she twines her hands around his shoulders and climbs into his lap. They had won the battle, it was time to celebrate.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, idk about the title (and lincoln's characterization) sorry!  
> also, you can come prompt me on [tumblr](https://unremarkablegirl.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
